


Red

by Kryptaria



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 12DaysofMoony, Gen, Gift Fic, bamf!mrs. hudson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson is an enigma so wrapped in mystery that even Sherlock Holmes thinks she's nothing more than his landlady. He never thinks to wonder what happened to her hip or what's in her tea cupboard or what she did in the days before she lived at Baker Street. The answers would surprise him.</p><p>England really might just fall, if Mrs. Hudson left Baker Street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moonblossom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/gifts).



> For the lovely Moonblossom!
> 
> Special thanks to Honeybee221B for the fantastic beta, and to Bootsnblossoms for the cheerleading.

_0309, 2 Jan 2013_. Emma Hudson looked at the bedside clock and sighed to herself, wondering just how long it would take for her to get back to a normal sleep schedule. Oh, she shouldn’t have had that champagne for New Year’s, but she never could resist.

She threw off her blanket and sat up, thinking she’d make herself a nice cuppa. And she should probably go check on the boys. They’d all got a bit tipsy on New Year’s Eve — more than a bit, truth be told — and while she trusted Dr. Watson to take care of Sherlock, especially now that they were... _well_... she couldn’t trust Sherlock not to get himself in a bit of trouble.

Her slippers were there at the side of the bed, waiting for her feet, and her dressing gown was draped over the corner bedpost. She checked the hidden inside pocket automatically before she tied the sash around her waist and shuffled out to the kitchen.

Under her breath, she hummed a bit of the melody that Sherlock had been playing. He did play so beautifully when he wasn’t in one of his stroppy moods. A bit of champagne had gone a long way towards cheering him, especially after he caught Dr. Watson under the mistletoe that had ‘accidentally’ escaped Emma’s post-Christmas clean-up efforts. She’d pretended not to notice when a sweet little peck had turned into full-on snogging.

In the kitchen, she gave the kettle a quick rinse, refilled it, and switched it on. Then she went to the cupboard where she kept her tea. Three a.m. The Witching Hour, as they’d once called it. How many nights had found her awake at this hour, sharply alert? Too many. Retirement was just lovely.

She opened the cupboard door, thinking that if she was going back to bed, she’d have chamomile and lavender; if she was staying awake, she had a lovely assam that Sherlock had given her. She touched the tin of assam, tapping a fingernail thoughtfully on it.

Suddenly, a little red light blinked to life, visible through the thin, false panel at the back of the cupboard.

Frowning, she found the hidden catch under the shelf and swung the whole cupboard aside. Boxes and tins shifted but didn’t fall as the well-oiled hinges operated silently and smoothly.

Most of the lights were off: front door, back door, basement access, cafe access, and so on. But the rear attic window light was glowing a steady, sullen red.

Emma took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. She’d had the house wired for an alarm when she’d moved in, but she’d never quite trusted the system. Either it was so sensitive that a good wind could set it off, or it was so useless as to be a waste of electricity. No, she much preferred good old fashioned security, but still, the alarm system was a nice backup.

It was probably nothing, but all too often in her life, ‘nothing’ had turned into ‘something’. She dreaded the climb to the attic. Her hip was acting up as it always did in the winter.

 _Damn that Sergei_ , she thought affectionately as she rubbed at the old scar.

Well, there was nothing for it. She’d never get back to sleep without checking. Deliberately, she put the tin of assam on the counter.

She closed up the hidden panel and left her little flat. The front hallway was chilly, and she shivered as icy air curled around her bare ankles. She considered going back to her room to change into something warmer, but if this _was_ something, well, there was no time to waste.

Seventeen steps up, she counted, and then she let herself into the boys’ flat, quiet as a mouse. There they were, the darlings, with Sherlock sprawled on top of Dr. Watson on the sofa, gangly limbs flung out like a spider trapping its prey. She smiled to herself, thinking the metaphor very inappropriate; if anyone was the hunter, it was Dr. Watson. All those years, he’d waited patiently for Sherlock to come to his senses.

She smiled affectionately, glad they’d found happiness together. Sometimes, she’d just wanted to smack them both for being so silly.

Then she pushed away the smile and went back out to the stairwell. She crept quietly up the stairs that led up to what used to be Dr. Watson’s room. Now it was just storage.

Politely, Dr. Watson had kept the attic door clear of boxes. Now, Emma pressed her ear up against the door, closing her eyes to concentrate. Her heart gave a little skip when she heard a creak.

So, it probably wasn’t the wind after all.

Despite the cold, she eased her feet out of the slippers. Silently, she turned the doorknob, easing the latch open with barely a _click_. Beyond, a dark, steep set of stairs led up to the attic. Her hip didn’t hurt at all as she advanced, one hand holding up the hem of her nightgown.

With her other hand, she drew the small .22 pistol from the holster built into her dressing gown. Its length was nearly doubled by the suppressor at the end of the muzzle.

Very faintly, as she crept into the darkness of the attic, she smiled.

 

~~~

 

Emma’s hand was on the door leading from the boys’ kitchen to the stairwell when she heard a commotion from the living room. “Mrs. Hudson?” Dr. Watson asked groggily.

“I _told_ you I heard something,” Sherlock complained. In the faint light coming through the front windows, she could just see Sherlock turn back to face her. “What are you doing, sneaking about?”

“Sherlock!” John scolded. More gently, he asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she assured them, proud her voice was steady despite the adrenaline singing through her veins. She shouldn’t have let herself in to check on them again, but she couldn’t help it. “It’s chilly, that’s all, and I wanted to make sure the windows were all closed. It wouldn’t do to have you two catch colds, sleeping without blankets.”

Her sharp ears picked out the sound of John’s groan and Sherlock’s smug smile. “We’re quite warm enough, thank you,” Sherlock told her.

“God. Get off me,” John complained.

“I’d really rather not.”

_“Sherlock!”_

Chuckling, Emma said fondly, “You two. I’ll just go make my tea.”

“Good night, Mrs. _mrph_ —” John’s polite farewell was silenced most effectively. Clever boy, that Sherlock.

Blushing faintly, Emma let herself out of the flat and hurried back downstairs as the kettle started whistling. In the excitement, she’d forgot all about it.

On the way to the kitchen, she picked up one of her cordless phone handsets from the living room. She dialled five digits and set the phone to her ear, listening to the switchboard click. Or was it something else? Did they use switchboards anymore? Perhaps not.

She took down a mug as a young, chipper male voice answered the line. “Universal Exports, how may I direct your call?”

“This is 001. I’ve had a little incident.” She tried to open the tin lid of the assam, but it was thoroughly stuck. With a huff of frustration, she went to get a butter knife to pry it open.

“001 — Ma’am!” he said, his voice rising into a strangled gasp. “What can — That is —”

“Could you please send a retrieval team to the alley behind my address, dear? Two-two-one Baker Street,” she added. “I caught someone sneaking about in my attic.”

“A retrieval — right, yes. Of course, ma’am. Are you — Do you need medical assistance?”

 _Assistance with this bloody tea-tin,_ she thought, before the knife slipped into just the right spot. The lid popped off and went flying. “Whoops! No, that’s quite all right. I’m fine. I’m afraid he’s not, though. I needed to push him out the window so my tenants wouldn’t fuss. It’s quite a steep fall.”

The young man made a sort of strangled noise. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll send a team right away, ma’am.”

“Thank you, dear. And let M know that I’ll stop by in the morning for a little chat, will you?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“Happy New Year,” she bade, and hung up before he could babble some more. She set the phone down and sighed as she filled a tea ball with the fragrant, dried leaves.

She hung the tea ball in her mug and covered it with hot water before remembering the alarm panel. With a little huff of frustration, she operated the hidden catch and swung the cupboard open again. She pressed the reset button at the bottom of the panel, and obligingly the red light went dark.

Smiling in satisfaction, she closed everything up and waited for her tea to steep. So much for a day to catch up on neglected housework. Maybe she could convince the boys to help out. Sherlock was rubbish at cleaning, but at least Dr. Watson could be trusted to dust and hoover.

They were such good boys. She’d once resented the gunshot that had ended her chances of having children — and she’d made Sergei pay for that one. Now, though, she had to admit that she’d been blessed indeed to have Sherlock and his doctor in her life.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for Red](https://archiveofourown.org/works/699611) by [moonblossom graphics (moonblossom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom%20graphics)
  * [[Podfic] Red](https://archiveofourown.org/works/860950) by [themusecalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themusecalliope/pseuds/themusecalliope)




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